


Neither Now, Nor Ever

by wolfiery (asswords)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Dad Stiles, Eventual Smut, Fae & Fairies, Future Fic, Hallucinations, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Werewolf Danny Mahealani, s3 mild mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asswords/pseuds/wolfiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I -" Stiles shakes his head, confused and so freezing that it takes all his strength to not visibly shake in front of the fairy. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."</p><p>He’s trying, he’s trying <i>so</i> hard to work this out - he always figures it out, he’s supposed to but it’s been so long. He’s afraid he’ll think the worst - he’s <i>biased</i> now, can’t think of anything but his son, his fear amped up to maximum because it’s different being in the pack as a parent than it ever was as a teenager. He thinks with worry now, not logic.</p><p>Then she smiles, waning worse than a moon, "No, I suppose you don't."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. condemned to choke

**Author's Note:**

> Some things I didn't feel like putting in the tags:
> 
> The season three mentions don't go past episode 8, as that was when I first started this thing (I know, it's been forever, but I found it in my drafts and figured it deserved to be finished but I need some motivation first.)
> 
> Stiles adopted a child in this fic, and I don't know much about adoption agencies and how exactly Stiles would qualify, but it's fiction, so ta-da, Stiles has a kid, roll with it.
> 
> The Sheriff doesn't know about werewolves. Boyd and Erica are still dead (*cries*). But Derek hasn't given up his alpha-ness yet. Stiles distanced himself from the pack for about three years (it doesn't stick).

_Lina said to Fundevogel,_  
_“Never leave me, and I will never leave thee.”_  
_Fundevogel said, “Neither now, nor ever.”_  
_\- Fundevogel: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm_

\-----

\-----

Stiles didn’t leave Beacon Hills after graduation. Some of his teachers were surprised, some thought he had all the potential to go beyond a small town. Some thought he was kind and curious enough that he'd be a teacher if he stayed, or even the next sheriff.

Stiles was actually just tired.

By the time he'd graduated, he could say he'd fought off over twenty different werewolves (the majority of them _alphas_ ), four witches, a darach, a nest of vampires, and three oddball creatures, including the kanima. It was enough action for a lifetime, but nobody understood that in what seemed to be a boring town, so he didn't bother explaining. He never wanted much after high school in the first place - just a house, a steady enough income, and maybe a kid one day.

He gets two of them by the time he’s twenty-four. Stiles is older than he really is and he knows it took more than his mom’s death to get him there. It might’ve had something to do with the anguish and dread he saw in a bunch of teenagers, including him, since his sophomore year. Tiredness and weariness all wrapped up in one long sigh when they finished saving the stupid town yet again. In the end, so many things happened that he wasn’t even disapproving when Scott told him he was gonna propose at graduation. He gets it because for people like Allison and Scott, it's about being sure they have found the person to be with forever, and putting a lock on that before any more supernatural creatures come to town.

Stiles didn't get anyone knocked up at sixteen, nor did his mom have a bastard child in secret and he has a surprise brother, but it's the general assumption when people see a ten year old stumble behind him in the grocery store.

When Stiles was 21, he searched out for an adoption agency and didn't tell anyone, too hesitant to hear about their disapproval or scolding in the decisions he makes. Because fuck it, he was lonely, holed up in an apartment near the center of town to help run the bookstore. And he's always wanted a kid more than a dog. The process was hard - it took a long time to prove his 'worthiness', especially at his age, but eventually his persistence meant something. It was easier once he said he didn't want a newborn, not even a young toddler. The fact that he was the Sheriff’s son seemed to help. Either way, Stiles thinks it’s just a shitty world to live in if it means not looking past the surface.

Stiles was 21 and uncertain and nervous and young but excited and Ace was scared and lonely and wary, just like he used to be.

It all worked out.

"Ace, hurry up and choose or you're gonna be late for your baseball game and I'm gonna have to suffer more wraths of single moms or suburban dads who want to talk about their power tools." Stiles groans, tapping his fingers on the edges of the cart impatiently. “Do you know how hard it is to listen to them talk about their power tools and _not_ make an innuendo out of it?” He wishes he could be sterner about it, but the concentration in the child's forehead is too amusing to pass up.

Ace rolls his eyes, near black hair sticking up in all the wrong places, a scoff tempted to escape his mouth and Stiles just _knows_ it.

"It's not that simple! These Pop-Tarts taste like they're fruity and frosty and simple but then Hot Fudge Sundae is a chocolate-y goodness and _actually_ tastes like fudge." Ace finally gives up, shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing and snatches both boxes and throws them in the cart.

Stiles is bewildered. “Aw, man, I don’t have a coupon for this stuff! One day, you’re gonna have to get used to making hard choices.”

The boy, a bit scrawny for his age but tall, snorts, “Sorry, I wasn’t aware that choosing Pop-Tarts is a life-changing decision.”

Stiles tries to give his best glare. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Yes, _dad_.”

And that just makes Stiles release a full blown out grin. Because so what, this kid’s humor is right down his aisle and he’s never been more proud to be called ‘Dad’ than when he first saw the scared 7 year old at the agency a three years ago. Ace knows he loves it when he actually calls him ‘Dad’ instead of ‘dude’. He knows it so much he'll sometimes use it to get his way and Stiles gives in automatically anyways. The kid's a sly bastard and he couldn't have asked for anyone better.

Ace just walks on and tries to duck away from the ruffle Stiles gives his hair, even though he secretly likes it. "Why'd you even sign up for baseball this summer? You usually hate sports."

Ace gets uncomfortable and begins to put their groceries on the thingy that slides your groceries (as he calls it), making Stiles even more suspicious because he’s _willingly_ helping out. "I just like it now," he shrugs casually, pointedly not looking at Stiles.

Stiles frowns but tries to play it cool and lightly shoves at his son's shoulders, "No, really, what is it? Trying to impress a girl? Or a guy? Cause, y'know, you're getting to that point -"

Ace flicks his stomach to make him shut up and rolls his eyes. "Unlike you, I am only ten years old and I am already completely positive -"

The sales clerk gives him a judging look as Ace continues and Stiles laughs nervously, trying to apologize to her nonverbally. So far, it's an embarrassing process so he focuses his attention to make Ace quiet down with obnoxious shushing.

"– that I am a heterosexual white male –"

"Hah, _hey_ , hey, buddy, why don't you go listen to the radio in the car or something?" Stiles gives up his keys to Ace in seconds, who bolts out of the exit doors in excitement. He groans when the boy almost runs into an old lady in the process and regrets his parenting choices.

He does until he sees Ace help the elderly woman to her car. Then he feels pretty proud of himself.

Stiles pays for the groceries quickly, making his way to the car where his kid is waiting for him in the passenger seat.

"Can I have a Pop Tart now?" Ace asks, holding his hand out expectantly.

"No way, you'll get your stomach sick running around right after eating," Stiles pats himself on the back for that one, and smiles because he thinks of his dad's awful diet that he _still_ needs to watch.

"But we can say I have a stomach ache and leave early so you don't have to deal with single moms," Ace smiles mischievously and Stiles - well, it's really _tempting_. He sighs and pulls up to the fields.

"Hey, buddy, you signed up, you play - or at least benchwarm," he adds as an afterthought, thinking of his past days in lacrosse.

Ace groans to himself, smacking his hand against his forehead dramatically, “I’m gonna regret this.”

“You and me both,” but Stiles just grins, because he could get used to this banter, for the rest of his life really - until Ace goes off to college and Stiles is sitting on a rocking chair, gray and withered.

 

\-----

 

Stiles hasn't exactly _avoided_ the supernatural world of Beacon Hills. It was kind of impossible to do since he stayed there after high school. Instead, he asked to be let go from the pack, to be left alone and let him live a normal human life. It's not that he didn't handle the extraordinary without finesse, because he did. But he grew tired of it after a certain point in time. He sometimes sees Isaac by a gas station or Chris Argent when he goes to the bank and - he'll wave if he has to, but that's it. Scott is still his best friend, working under Deaton as a great protégé. When the two of them hang out, he pointedly won't talk about anything werewolf-wise.

Stiles wants to feel guilty or selfish about it, but he doesn't. He's grateful because he can raise Ace normally and has been for the past three years. Whenever there's something going on in the town (i.e. murders and harmed innocent people), he feels a pull to ask, to help, but then shuts it down when he reminds himself that he's utterly useless anyways. His dad notices because he's the Sheriff and nothing gets past him (except, well, werewolves) so he raises an eyebrow when Stiles doesn't ask for the details of the case anymore.

So, yeah, he's pretty content with playing normal and taking Ace to baseball games and helping him with his homework (not that he needs much help - his son is pretty smart if he can brag). The point is he's settled and he appreciates the way things have calmed down.

Which is naturally when Derek Hale decides to pop by.

Stiles hears a scream from his son's bedroom and drops the Tupperware without a second thought. He's running as fast as he can, panic running through his veins because there's no way in hell he's going to lose the most important person to him.

When he gets to Ace's room, he grabs the wooden baseball bat from beside the door and raises it. He sees the shadow of the man raising his hands in surrender, trying to shush his little boy.

"Who are-" The light hits Derek Hale's face when he steps forward, finishing Stiles question. He lowers the bat and lets out a string of curses that Ace has probably heard before.

"It's just me," Derek reassures, like he thinks that it's actually _reassuring_. He cringes then, looking completely embarrassed and as if he regrets coming in the first place. "I, uh, I thought this was your room. Your scent's all over it."

"Dad?" Ace questions, looking from Stiles to the intruder with bewilderment.

"It's, ugh," Stiles groans, running a hand over his eyes, just to make sure this isn't a terrible D-rated horror film. "It's an old friend, Ace. I used to know him before I adopted you."

"Doesn't he know how to use doors?" The ten year old retorts, snarkily and moves to his dad's side. Stiles puts a hand of comfort on Ace's shoulder, rubbing soothingly and snorts.

"No, I don't think he does," and then Stiles waves a hand out of the door, gesturing to the living room for Derek to follow him. He stops Ace, who's trailing after them like this is a completely normal night for both of them.

"What do you think you're doing? You have school tomorrow. Go back to bed," Stiles urges, pointing at Ace's bedroom door.

"But, _dad_ , a guy just broke into my room," he whines, and actually pouts, thinking it'll work on Stiles (again). But Stiles doesn't budge, just ushers him to his room again, after locking his window.

"Are you a secret spy? Like that really awful, ancient movie you showed me once called Spy Kids?" Ace asks, under his bed again and tucked in.

"No," Stiles rolls his eyes. "Now go to sleep. And just for that comment, I’m showing you the 3D one tomorrow."

He trails out of the room slowly, making sure that Ace is firmly in his bed, and flicks the lights off and closes the door behind him. He makes his way to the living room.

"Stiles, look, I didn't mean -"

Stiles punches Derek in the face. With his fist. Which now hurts like hell, oh my god, that was a _terrible idea_.

Derek's eyes flash red with anger, taking two steps closer to Stiles.

"That's for scaring my son," Stiles says firmly, because he learned a long time ago that Derek was all bark and no bite. He's not scared of the dude no matter what alpha status he slaps on next to his name. "Get over it, you'll heal," He comments when the Alpha's red eyes haven't disappeared yet.

Derek calms down after that, looking like his normal pissed off self rather than embarrassed and bashful.

"I told you very specifically not to bother me with werewolf stuff," Stiles finally sits down on his couch, waiting for Derek to say something.

"We need your help on this one," he says firmly, obviously not guilty anymore about scaring Ace. "And I would have called, but someone changed their number to avoid me and my pack."

"Not _avoid_ , exactly, I would call it -" Stiles shuts up when Derek gives him one of his classic sourwolf looks. It hasn't lost its edge, that's for sure. He resigns again and stays silent.

"There's a," Derek stops, looks over the cringing on Stiles face, like he suddenly realizes that he's technically been out of the game for a while now. "Well, it's a type of fairy. I wouldn't ask you unless we absolutely needed you, you know that, right? I know what it means to want to keep your family safe."

Stiles looks up, frowning and can see the hardness in Derek's face, the exhaustion, like he just wants this to be over too. So he nods, and lets Derek continue on. Stiles can’t believe how there’s a difference in three years. Derek looks _good_ , aging like fine wine and he’s embarrassed to be feeling the old attraction flare up again.

"This fae or fairy, is called a Gwyllion. We don't know too much about it, but there is a spell to stop it," he frowns angrily at the wooden floorboards, as if they've offended him. Stiles looks at his floor for a second but then realizes that Derek's just angry again. "We already know how to stop it, but a human has to do the spell. And before you ask, Allison couldn't do it because the instructions in the beastiary were very specific."

It's silent even as Stiles raises his eyebrows, trying to silently gesture Derek to get to the punchline.

"Stiles, the spell needs a human to perform it and," The Alpha stands up from the couch, looking like he's about to leave.

" _And_?" Stiles persists, crossing his arms defensively and standing up as well. His heart is beating fast, anger and fear all mixed up in one.

"And someone who has a child," Derek shrugs, looking hopeless and apologetic. He looks dejected when the next words come out of his mouth. "You're the only one who fit."

Stiles blinks, feeling his frown deepen and his heart give out an ache. There was always lingering guilt he felt when he thinks about how he left things with Derek, trying to ask him for the space to start over. They both know he didn't mean it at the time, that Derek was hurt and angry, but just spat out, ' _You should’ve left a long time ago. We didn’t need you here._ ' So Stiles did, he left without looking back. But now, hearing 'the only one' and the unspoken 'in the pack' seems to completely magnify how horrible he feels.

"But," Stiles swallows, feeling like there's literally his heart in his throat, blocking him from words as he tries to focus on the matter at hand. "Ace and I aren't blood-related."

"The bond is there," and that's all that Derek says on the matter before making his way to the - kitchen? Stiles follows after him, before he sees Derek taking a banana from the fruit bowl (he subsides the urge to make a crack at Derek and a banana). Then Derek takes a pen from the notes that are sprawled on the countertop and is scribbling something down on a blank sheet of paper.

"Call me tomorrow," Derek says firmly, no other option included. And then walks out, dropping the banana peel on Stiles' very nice, _clean_ floor.

"Hey!" He lets out an indignant yell, but is only returned with a snort before he hears his door shut.

"Asshole," Stiles mutters and then pales, because it's been too long and he forgot all about werewolf hearing. He hates his life.

\----

The next day, Stiles forgets to call until 11:30pm so he thinks that since Derek didn't specify on _when_ , he's not at fault. It's a shame Derek doesn't feel the same way.

"Stiles," he grits out angrily. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"As far as I know, the date is October 2nd, which is still considered yesterday's tomorrow, so, no blame on Stiles can be placed," he defends automatically.

"I'm - I was about to go to bed," Derek admits, and it's the voice of ' _I don't want to deal with this right now_ ' and Stiles gets that, he does - still feels it in his bones even now, after not dealing with the supernatural for three years.

"You should sleep, then," Stiles tries to convey an apologetic tone through the telephone. "You looked tired when I saw you. Not that I was looking, I mean - Well, the pups are all grown up, but you're still getting out of bed to check on them, huh?" Stiles huffs a bit of laughter at his own joke, waiting to hear Derek come up with a half-assed sassy comeback.

Not a sound comes from the other line.

Stiles splutters words out of his mouth in disbelief when his jaw drops in realization, "You're! - Unbelievable! You're _still_ checking on them in the middle of the night?! Derek, are you absolutely _insane_?"

"It's only when things are bad. It's a habit, I don't want anything to happen."

"We're just dealing with a fairy, aren't we?" Stiles pales and makes his way to his bathroom, stops himself in front of the mirror and looks up before asking, "Derek, how bad is it? If you're pulling me into this, I have to know everything."

"Maybe if you called me earlier - "

"Derek," Yeah, the Alpha's not the only one who can do the forceful name thing.

"It's - eight bodies and counting," Derek admits and Stiles can hear him sigh over the line. "Let's - can we talk about this tomorrow? Morning, maybe?"

Stiles feels like he's swallowing blood, bitter and metallic and nods to himself in the mirror, "Yeah. Tomorrow. G'night, Derek."

He hangs up then and gives himself a glance in the mirror. Stiles looks at his reflection and thinks that maybe he belonged with supernatural miserable-ness this whole time, and was just good at pretending otherwise.

 

\-----

 

Stiles wakes up to the smell of bacon running through his nose and smiles, getting up from bed. He makes his way to the kitchen, placing a kiss on the top of Ace's head, who cranes his neck to grin.

Ace is an average-sized boy for ten years old, but a little shorter than his friends. He's got brown, shaggy, always-tangled-always-in-his-eyes hair that's trouble if you try to tame it. He was given to the adoption agency when he was four, different from the others because he was nurtured and then given up rather than just from the start. He lived a year in an old couple's home and then two years in the foster home because of his biological mother's history.

Stiles knew all about her - she was not just a good woman who ended up somewhere bad, but a different kind of evil that he and his werewolf friends weren't used to. She was a cross between a heroin addict, a cocaine dealer, and whatever else she could do for money. Which leads to the fact that she thought giving up her son, would get her a nice paycheck.

They both don't talk about her. Stiles ends up too angry and Ace ends up too sad.

But now they're in the kitchen and Ace is actually making breakfast because he is the best son ever. Stiles rubs a hand over his eyes, like it'll physically rub away the tired that's in them.

Ace flinches for a moment from the sizzling popping of the bacon grease, but then goes back to cooking, and gives a glance to the adult in the room.

"There's coffee in the pot already."

Stiles groans audibly with happiness, "Have I told you I love you lately? Because I do, you're awesome."

"Love you too," he shoots a grin at his dad before picking the bacon up with a fork and putting it on a plate. "Don't thank me yet, though, this is a bribe."

"Oh, is it now?" Stiles says cheekily, raising his eyebrows at his kid, waiting for him to continue. Bribery with bacon, Ace learned from the best. "There's no eggs to go with it?"

Ace pales, and curses with an appropriate, "Damn it." He scolds himself like he should've considered it.

"Hey, hey, I'm just teasing you," he forgets sometimes that Ace has a bit of a complex. Like the moment he does something wrong, Stiles is gonna ship him off. It's ridiculous because Stiles is pretty sure Ace could end up a cocaine dealer himself and he still wouldn't ship him away (there would be some heavy grounding involved if it came to that though). "What do you need?"

"Well, Josh is having this birthday party, but it's like a full weekend thing, and I was just wondering -"

The sound of the buzzer rings through the apartment, in loud, boring echoes.

"Hold that thought," he raises a finger at Ace and rushes to the door in an ungraceful half-walk, half-run. He pushes the button and opens the door, waiting for the person who buzzed. He doesn't think Ace ordered a pizza if he made bacon.

Broad shoulders, dark hair and a default angry expression.

"Derek," Stiles says exasperatingly, "Now's really not -"

"I could have used the window," Derek interrupts, raising an eyebrow pointedly, and then strides past him, letting himself into the apartment.

Yeah, he guesses that's Derek language for being considerate. He stands there for a minute, doubt creeping up on him about this fairy thing. There's a part of that wants to know more about the deaths, and the other is screaming at his brain, telling him to get the hell away from all this.

 _Ugh_ , Stiles mentally groans. His morning was going so well and now this. When he remembers that his son is still in the kitchen, he closes the door and rushes forward - trying to stop awkward interaction before it happens. He gets to the kitchen and sees -

Derek Hale is talking to his kid about the Star Wars. His day just gets crazier. He has to blink again to see it, but it's true. Ace is moving his hands vigorously, like they're arguing, and Derek is leaning on his counter, shaking his head and scoffing.

"No, the prequel is better than the older version, you classic-loving freak," Ace argues, and Derek glares at him, probably because of the knack on classic making him old more than the argument. "Because there's a story about brothers and betrayal and it's more complicated, like real life is. The older version is just some get up about happy endings."

Derek scoffs, "Yeah? And what's so bad about three people coming together and fighting off the Federation? And it is complicated in that story too, I mean, Luke didn't really have it easy."

"Um," Stiles says, announcing his presence awkwardly. "Am I interrupting?"

They look up, and _god_ , Derek kind of smiles and smirks at him for a second. His heart beats a little harder, but he can't help it really. He expected Derek to be incredibly uncomfortable around kids, maybe growling at them with fangs to make them go away but - not this, he didn't expect Derek to be _cute_ with children. Derek raises an eyebrow at him - damn wolfboy's hearing - so Stiles attempts a hapless shrug, like he doesn't know either.

"I'll take it you're the reason for the wrongful guidance in this kid's head about the classics?" Derek pointedly asks him. Okay, so maybe he had Ace watch the prequel first and it stuck with him.

Ace points his tongue out at an alpha werewolf who still looks like a serial killer human-wise. Man, Stiles needs to teach him some better self-preservation. But said werewolf just snorts quickly.

"This _kid's_ name is Ace, and you're a guest here, buddy. Show some respect for my dad _and_ his bacon," at that, Ace snatches the plate from under Derek's hands and sets it aside. Stiles is still far far too amused by this to stop, especially the look on the Alpha's face that shows him he just got _told_.

"I'm Derek," the werewolf finally offers in return, and sizes him up and nods. It reminds Stiles of years ago when Derek pushed him against a door and finally nodded to him, like he respected him at that point.

Ace turns to grin at his dad bashfully, but not looking all too sorry for telling off Stiles' 'guest', as he said. "As I was saying, Dad, Josh's birthday party is this weekend and it's like for the whole weekend at this indoor waterpark thing. I was wondering if I could go, but it costs like around a hundred bucks?"

Stiles raises his eyebrows, "A hundred?"

"Well, seventy-five, but I was hoping for some spending money on the side."

Now, that's his boy. He groans to himself, and carefully calculates in his brain of he can afford it for this weekend, depending on if the bookstore gets a lot of business this month. He's not in debt, really, for a twenty-four year old, compared to the ones suffering on student loans. "Fine," he decides finally, and it's worth the grin that lights up on Ace's face. Ace gets up to hug-attack him, his head hitting Stiles' ribs - man, is he getting taller? - and says thank you a million times.

"Okay, okay, okay, you can stop now. But you have to call me everyday, twice a day and I want to know what you're up to, got it?" He warns Ace, finger pointing and everything, like the tricks he's learned from his dad.

"Duh, who else am I gonna brag to? All my friends will be there with me," Ace jokes. He then looks over to Derek and then points in the direction of his room with a question in his eyes. Stiles nods in agreement, ruffles his hair for a second, and then watches him walk to his room. He focuses on Derek then, who's been awfully quiet and looking at Stiles in a way that's hard to explain.

"You're good with him," Derek points out, and it would feel like a compliment if he didn't have a tone of awe.

"Can we just get started?" Stiles looks around the room, his body hot and embarrassed because of Derek, until finally, the older man snaps out of it. He starts to tell Stiles about the fairy, about the details of their death.

At one point, Ace rushes through, running with his backpack on his shoulder and a cereal bar in his mouth, muttering about being late to his carpool. It happens so suddenly that Stiles blinks and shakes his head, let's his kid walk on through and then returns his attention to the details.

In turn, Stiles talks about what he's managed to research so far for the Irish lore and says there's different kinds of fairies, a term more offensive than Fae, apparently.

"This one is a child of Eve," Derek explains, standing next to him and looking at a laptop together. "Here, I have the beastiary," and then hands Stiles a thumb drive. He stares at it for a second and then laughs, plugging it in.

"What's so funny?" Derek says with deadpan, just knowing he's gonna regret that question.

"Didn't think you'd know what a thumb drive is. Look at you, growing up with the world's technology. Tell me you don't have a Nokia phone?" Stiles snorts at his own joke, sighing a bit. If there's one thing he missed, it's poking the bear, or the werewolf in his case.

"Shut up and open the damn beastiary," Derek orders, but it's more fond and annoyed rather than angry. This reaction also works for Stiles. He's about to open it up when he looks at the time and flips.

"Crap," he stands up, closing the laptop and rushing to his bedroom to get changed. He has work, because he is a completely normal person trying to hunt a _fairy_. His life honestly is insane.

He manages to get changed in peace, thank god, but Derek is standing outside his bedroom door when he opens it, silently asking what is happening.

"I have work. I gotta manage the bookstore, and I need to if Ace wants to go to his friend's birthday party." He can't really explain past that, since he knows he's supposed to be saving the town and ends up burdened by the responsibility of stocking shelves. Figures.

"I'll, uh, call you later then," Derek offers, standing awkwardly, watching him get his stuff together. Something seems to click in his head and snap him out of it, because then he moves closer towards the door.

Stiles just nods tentatively, watching as Derek’s hand grips the handle. There’s something crawling up his throat, and it’s out before he can even stop himself. “Hey, Derek?”

The older man turns around, raising his eyebrow impatiently for Stiles to get on with it.

Stiles stutters in his throat, feeling incredibly invasive but he can’t help it (he’s heard stories about his mom being into town gossip, it must run in his blood), and asks, “Did you have a little brother?”

He can’t get the way Derek was talking with his son out of his head, because he’s never seen the werewolf so relaxed, especially during times when something is trying to kill the pack and humans in the town. Derek’s eyes flicker for a brief second with pain, like the question itself picked him apart and tried to string him back together incorrectly. Finally, a soft yet bittersweet smile tugs on the corners of his lips. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful, if Stiles can admit to himself.

“Older brother,” Derek says, and that’s all Stiles really wanted to know, doesn’t want to pry too much, so he turns around not expecting more which is exactly why the Alpha continues, “His name was Brian.”

Stiles turns around, probably showing some expression of surprise, because Derek Hale is actually _sharing_ stuff, about his family, no less. So yeah, the grounds for surprised exist right about now.

“And thankfully, _he_ knew which version of Star Wars was superior,” Derek admonishes, smirking when he sees Stiles’ indignant scoff. He walks out then, and Stiles is left rolling his eyes, but also smiling softly. Because, Derek Hale just got a little stranger. Who would’ve thought that was possible?

 

\----

 

Stiles decides to visit Scott in the evening, Ace trailing beside him, bouncing with excitement because he loves Scott’s dog, Shadow, a black and white husky with bright blue eyes. Stiles made fun of him when he first got it, reminding him of how huskies look like wolves, and their blue eyes look like Derek’s werewolf eyes when he was a beta. Scott scoffed at him, and said they didn’t (pretty unconvincingly though).

But now Stiles is involved with the werewolf business again, and Scott is still his favorite werewolf, and he has questions that need answers, that Derek is still holding back.

"So, her biggest magic weapon, you would say, is illusions? Like wolfsbane hallucinations?" Stiles just wants to make sure he's getting this down correctly, considering he had to touch up on the beastiary about fairies when he got home from work earlier. He called Derek, who told him he should talk to Scott because he was too busy tracking the fairy's whereabouts.

They met up at the animal clinic, where Scott is now interning before he can become an actual vet. Deaton doesn't mind, said that he's growing older and could always use Scott's hands for extra help.

"Not exactly like the wolfsbane," Scott says, putting his hand into his lab coat pocket (Stiles can't get over his best friend wearing a white medical coat without laughing). "She uses magic. The illusions aren't exactly by fault of your own mind, but rather what she gathers from you, and decides what can hurt you the most."

"She sounds nice," Stiles says casually, nodding his head at his best friend. Scott smiles at his sarcasm, huffs a laugh, and then gives him this significant _look_.

It wipes the facade off his face, as he grunts an uncomfortable, "What?"

"I just can't believe you're back in this, dude," Scott grimaces, making sad-eyes at him, thinking Stiles can read his mind. But finally, he starts talking, "Do you remember that night? At the motel in junior year?"

Stiles would actually smack Scott if he didn't know where he was heading with this story. Like he would ever forget the night his best friend tried to kill himself. He tells him that, and Scott looks like he kicked a puppy for a second and then continues.

"I know I was hyped on wolfsbane that night and the motel was creepy, but I think about what I said sometimes. How it was before I got bitten. Not that we were no one, but we had it easier. And that, well, I dragged you into this mess -"

"Scott, I'm the one who dragged you into the woods that night -"

"Let me finish, okay?" He looks persistent, so Stiles stays quiet, wonders in bewilderment how they're talking about this _now_ , twenty-four years old and aged from the teenagers they once were. "But you were always good at handling it, or so I thought. I know now that people took you for granted. All you ever did was try to save our lives time and time again, and the credit never really came. And I wanted a normal life for you. I'm actually glad you got out of that life, got an awesome kid, and all."

"But, I don't know, I'm just trying to say that I'm grateful that you're back in this because you seem to know what you're doing more than any of us, but I'm also bitter, because I wish that - I wish that you could just be living normally. Does that make sense?" His best friend is frowning, eyebrows scrunched up like he didn't put the words in the right order, but Stiles _does_ get it.

He tries to find the words too, pull them out of his mind and heart so they make sense. "I've fought a crazy alpha pack with you, a psychotic group of vampires and god knows what else. I appreciate the space I've been given, Scott, but you have to know that I backed out because I knew you guys could all handle it without me. If for a second any of you were in danger that was too difficult, I'd be running back anyways. Because I don't want anyone to get hurt. I've never saved lives out of obligation to you. I did it because I care."

Scott smiles sadly at that, "I know that. It's your flaw." He waits pointedly, giving a second for a statement that big to settle down into the ground and plant itself. "We normally would be able to handle this fairy on our own. It's just that the spell, it was -"

"Really specific, I know," Stiles reassures, waving his hand casually, letting the conversation drop before they continue with research.

 

\-----

 

The weekend approaches slowly, which everyone in the pack has agreed would be the best time for the spell. Stiles is the one who suggested it, plenty comfortable with the idea because his son would be out of town. He's been over Derek's a lot these days after work, with the pack to talk about plans. Ace stays quiet, doesn't mention how his dad isn't home that much because he's like an intense human empathizer, and knows his dad is doing something important. It does mean he's home alone more, living off pizza orders or making himself Mac N' Cheese. Stiles just wants this to be over, so he can cook his son dinner and make sure he gets his homework done and all that father-son stuff.

Instead, he's socializing with people he hasn't really talked to for three years. He learns that Lydia is working in a forensic lab in the closest big city to Beacon Hills, and that Allison was actually almost finished with police academy. The biggest surprise is that Danny is apparently a werewolf now. Not that he didn't know about them before. He's been heavily a member of the pack since high school. But he asked Derek for the bite a year ago, saying he was ready then, an early graduate from MIT in computer programming and technology. Things were settled down, so Derek asked five times if he was sure, and finally decided that he could use more werewolves in his pack besides Isaac and agreed that Danny would be a great asset.

Honestly, after Erica and Boyd died, he wasn't sure Derek would turn anyone ever again. He still pales when Boyd's death is mentioned, how it was _his_ claws that pierced into him, taking away his beta's last breath.

"So, tell me the truth, Danny, are you as ugly a werewolf as Isaac?" Stiles asks teasingly when he's there on Thursday night, grinning and ducking when Isaac throws a book at him.

"No," Danny laughs, "The sideburns actually shape my face. Me and Derek might have a run in for our money." And Stiles raises his eyebrows at that, because Derek was definitely the most attractive werewolf in the pack. Strictly speaking.

"Yeah, Miguel makes everyone _run_ for the money," Stiles jokes again, and deflates when Danny just looks confused for a little. But then Danny seems to get it and huffs an air of laughter anyways. The moment is gone to Stiles though, suddenly feeling the pang of how far away high school was. He feels guilty when Isaac starts to tell him what he's been up to (he's still managing a hipster coffee shop) because everyone in the pack knew about Stiles. But he didn't really take the time out to find out how they were doing, blaming the werewolf mess. He forgets they're people, and more than that, they're his _friends_ and he just pushed them all away.

"So, I didn't bother to ask, but who _is_ the fairy? Does she have a name so I can stop calling her Homicidal Winged Bitch in my head?" Stiles drinks more water out of his glass, and it's Lydia who pipes up, from all the way across the room. She was sitting quietly and reading on her biology book for forensics and hadn't said much.

"We don't actually know. She can take on the form of a human," Lydia says loudly so her voice makes it to Stiles, but her eyes are still gliding across the page, absorbing information in that freakishly-smart mind of hers.

Stiles groans loudly and gets curious stares from everyone in the room. "Why is it that every single monster thing we come across can pose as a human? Is it too much to ask for just one day, a freaking zombie will show up and we can just point and say, 'Found him! Right there!'?"

He gets a response of rolled eyes at his dramatics, but Stiles is not kidding about it. It's hard enough that they fight these things, that they _exist_ in the first place, but they have to figure it all out themselves? It's just not fair. Stiles is fed up, can feel the tension in his muscles these days. He's frustrated as hell because Lydia went over the spell with him, tried to help him memorize the spell in Archaic Latin, like it was so fucking _simple_. He can't get it through his mind though, his thoughts all over the place in a way they haven't been for a while. He misses his Adderall now, feeling like a high school kid who needs that extra medical push to keep him intact.

He's so out of practice. Too used to being overshadowed and thrown in the backseat of plans and maybe saving lives, but he's never had the front row like this before. He's never had the pack actually _needing_ him, and depending on him for all of their lives. Sure, with great power comes great responsibility, but Stiles doesn't feel any power. He just feels exhausted and pissed and uncomfortable and too fucking relied on to think he's Spider-Man in this situation. Erica once called him Batman, but he's not any superhero or a genius like Lydia and Danny.

He's only human.

 

\-----

 

On Thursday night, Stiles gets a call from an unknown number, perplexed, but he answers anyway.

"Hello?"

"Derek and I are going to the old Hale House cause we're thinking of setting the spell up there this weekend. He wants you to come with us," It's Isaac, brief and to the point, but still frustratingly vague in that way werewolves always are to Stiles. He just sighs heavily instead of dwelling on it and confirms his cooperation.

He drives his Jeep to Derek's old childhood house and parks it, suddenly feeling incredibly cold all over. It's not something out of a movie, not a physical chill he's feeling, but an emotional one, where something seems to tug at his heart and make him scared. He stays in his Jeep with the doors locked and the windows up, scoping out his line of vision as much as possible and frantically, afraid to miss just one detail.

He startles, arms flailing and heart stuttering when his phone rings. He rolls his eyes at himself and opens it, to hear Isaac demanding to know if he was there already. He certainly didn't grow any manners when it came to life or death business, it seems. Stiles tells him he’s at the front of the house.

"Yeah, we're on our way to the back of the house," and Stiles can hear the sound of tires squealing into a turn and then the loud sound of tires' friction against gravel. So he hangs up and moves his car to the back, driving slowly over the grass and dirt. He sees Derek pull up in the Camaro with a screeching halt, and Stiles is about to comment on the harsh, cruel way the guy treats his car, when Derek is out of the car and staring at the Hale House in complete, utter astonishment.

"Derek?" Stiles half-jogs to get to the werewolves, worry taking over him like it does sometimes in the middle of the night when Ace has his nightmares. "Derek, what's going on?"

"She's worked her magic on here." The Alpha releases a bitter, angry laugh. Stiles looks to the other werewolf, surprised to find him shrugging back at him, unsure either.

"What are you seeing?" Isaac is brave enough to ask, because there's a part of Stiles that usually would, but he's crossed a lot of boundaries already after being out of it for three years.

"It's just - it's my mom sitting on the bench. The house is restored," Derek says quickly, voice wrought with emotion, and then his jaw clenches. "Whatever, I know it's not real." He shuts his eyes tightly, painfully even and tries to will the hallucination or the memory away. Stiles wants to reach out and touch Derek, just a reassuring hand on his shoulder like he used to always do when Derek was vulnerable. He surprisingly always had the sense to know that the werewolf didn't want him to say anything. Just the touch of comfort was enough. Stiles understood that, seeing as he was the same when it came to his mom.

So he steps forward, small steps, not wanting to alarm a werewolf in any way because he's been there and done that. Stiles lightly touches Derek's bicep and drags his hand upward until he reaches the crook between his neck and shoulder. He squeezes a little there, the spot where everyone seems to have tension and Derek lets out a shaky breath, nodding in reassurance at the same time. It was a strangely intimate moment, and Stiles manages to feel half-awkward when he turns to look at Isaac, who seems to be wearing a carefully blank expression.

He's impressed when Derek opens his eyes again, this time a glowing red and an undeniable focus. Stiles supposes that they've all learned by now, Derek included, that they always lose when they satisfy the enemy's wish of them to suffer. Derek is stronger than most give him credit for.

"Come on," the Alpha orders, walking ahead to the burned remains of the house. "Let's go."

They decide to do the spell in what used to be the living room. It's the most spacious and also close to both the front and back doors in case they need an escape route. Stiles never liked the house, always feeling like he was invading on the private memories Derek has of this place - the good and the bad.

It's all a fairly simple night, they just had to scope out the place and make sure that besides the fairy dust that caused illusions ( _fairy dust_ \- Stiles had a field day with that one), there were no deliberate traps that would interrupt the spell on the weekend. Stiles briefly notices the front door across the house, the way it's moving only a little, by cause of the wind. He frowns at it but doesn't think too much, seeing as he's exhausted, knowing that the time is close to two in the morning. He didn't get to tuck Ace in tonight, or check on him, and feels his bones sink with disappointment.

He's walking in front of Derek through the back door, on their way to finally go home and _sleep_ , when the door slams shut behind Stiles. He spins around wildly, eyes widening when he realizes the Alpha is still inside. He panics as Isaac, who was in front of him, tries to bust down the door. It doesn't work, which Stiles guesses is because this is a magical trap. He should've known the door was suspicious, something felt off in those few seconds.

"Derek, I know you don't want to but you need to _talk_ about what's going on," Stiles shouts in worry through the wooden door, looking to the edge of the woods in front of him, trying to see if there's anything out there watching. "Come on, big guy, what do you see?"

"It's Paige," Derek says and his voice sounds _wrecked_ , regret and guilt creeping into it. "She's saying it's my fault."

Stiles feels something inside him claw at his heart again and briefly wonders if this whole thing is to make _Stiles_ suffer, watching Derek get tortured by the ghosts of his past.

"It's not, Derek, it's not. And you know that Paige would never think that either. This isn't her, this is the Homicidal Winged Bitch talking," he's trying his best with words, because Derek has always been hard to read, so Stiles was never sure of what to say. But now he can't touch Derek, can't physically shake him out of this nonsense he's seeing.

He doesn't know what's going on in there, and Isaac is whimpering and growling all at once, trying to bang the door open. At one point, he tries to literally tear it to shreds, but it's not a pretty image when one of his claws peels off and has to regrow. Stiles is still a little squeamish.

He doesn't need to be a werewolf to hear Derek whimpering on the other side of the door, apologizing for all the mistakes he's made and the promises he broke. He can tell that the werewolf's remaining resolve is crumbling, making him weak to a point of attack. He tries to think of what can be done, and hopes that if the fairy was still here, she didn't notice Stiles noticing the front door.

He runs around the house to the front, feeling his heart pound faster with relief when he finds that the front door remains open. He knows the fairy must have been there earlier, maybe watching them scan the place, but she seems to be nowhere in sight when he makes his way through the house. When he makes his way to Derek.

He finds the Alpha with his back against the door, his head hung down and his eyes shut tightly in remorse. He almost resembles a little child, refusing to hear bad news with the way each of his ears are covered with his palms. He looks so small, so breakable and Stiles' heart falters. There's a part of him that still isn't sure who this trap was meant to hurt.

He hesitates this time, his hand reaching out to Derek's arm but closing before he does touch him. Somehow, the Alpha senses him, his human eyes blinking slowly and wide at him, like he doesn't understand Stiles. It's whatever, Stiles doesn't understand himself either and says _fuck it_ , and reaches out again. He touches the Alpha's arm again but this time, he does jerk. Derek blinks slowly and removes his hands from his ears, focusing on Stiles' eyes and frowning now.

He comes to his normal self very quickly, based on the way he clears his throat, but immobile, still looking up at Stiles with a gaze of unsettling confusion. He's about to call Derek out on it, wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve that look.

"I just forgot that you were here," Derek says, like it's an absurd concept. And then, _oh oh oh_ , he suddenly understands, remembers how Derek has faced traps and pain without Stiles for his comforting touches, his annoying and helpful words, and pure sarcasm. Because now that he really thinks about it, Derek has been looking at him with awe for  _years_.

He thinks Derek is so stupid, and tells him so.

"You're an idiot," Stiles says fondly, once he realizes Derek's okay, just a little emotionally scarred (so, the usual). "I've always been here."

And maybe he wasn't involved with this stuff for three years. but he's never left it, not really. Stiles would always save Derek if he could. And Derek had to know that, even if he didn't until tonight.

He hasn't said anything in return to the younger man for a couple of minutes, and Stiles briefly feels uncomfortable, nerves crawling all over his arms and legs, tingling unpleasantly.

But then he sees Derek leaning up, hearing his own breath hitch at the movement before Derek's lips press softly against his. It's not the best timing, he's bone-dead tired, but the kiss makes him feel happily limitless. Something short circuits in Stiles when he thinks, ' _Oh_ ', and realizes there was nothing to be confused about, really.

He pushes his lips right back against Derek's, trying to show him that he's here, he's still there, kneeling in between the werewolf's stretched out legs. He brings a hand up to Derek's face, because _oh god_ , he just likes to touch him, to reassure him in the way he always has. He pulls apart then, not wanting anything to get hot and heavy right after Derek literally saw illusions of everything he blames himself for. Isaac comes in then, or maybe he was there the whole time, Stiles isn't sure. But the blond doesn't need to comment on the way Stiles' hand is still cradling his Alpha's cheek gently.

Instead, he says, "We should really get out of here."

It's not the worst they've faced, but Stiles couldn't agree more.

He's slow with Derek, who doesn't really need to be held upright but Stiles has an arm wrapped around the werewolf's waist anyways. He gives Isaac a look, who seems to nod back at him when Stiles helps Derek into his Jeep. He can still feel Derek's tenseness through the car, even when they watch Isaac take off in Derek's Camaro in front of them. Stiles drives them in silence to his apartment, expecting some sort of protest from the Alpha. He doesn't get any sort of response from Derek besides that same quizzical look he had on earlier, trying to figure out Stiles.

Neither of them knew, really.

They're quiet when they get into the house and Stiles takes a quick moment to ask Derek if Ace is asleep. He nods the affirmative.

Stiles offers Isaac the couch, and he seems to think about it, before saying he'd rather drive back home to his own bed.

“Can I leave him here with you? I’ll come back in the morning,” Isaac says, heavy and tired and pleading to be allowed to go home. If Stiles was a werewolf, he thinks he’d feel Isaac’s hesitance in leaving Derek here - with the guy who just pops back into the werewolf world and cradles his Alpha’s cheek. Stiles doesn’t blame him for it at all - anyone Derek has interest in seems to end up being the enemy.

Stiles nods firmly, doesn’t think about the way Isaac is essentially trusting him because it’s too heavy, especially right now.

Isaac takes off to his shared apartment with Danny.

Stiles is hardly shocked when Derek follows him through the hallway without a word. He can tell the Alpha feels out of place not being in his own home, especially somewhere that doesn’t smell like pack, just Stiles and Ace. He thinks about asking Derek but stomps down on the thought as soon as it comes. When he sees Derek’s shoulders sag in relief later on, he knows he made the right choice not to pry.

He thinks the kiss broke some unspoken boundaries because by the time they're in the bedroom, Stiles makes his way to bed, shedding off layers of clothes one by one. He rubs at his eyes that are begging for sleep and looks at Derek and silently points to the other side of the bed. It’s an invitation, not an order, but he’s pleased when Derek climbs into the side of the bed that Stiles obviously doesn't use.

Stiles stays silent and his body sinks into his mattress when he lies down. He’s about to close his eyes when Derek does something out of his comfort zone.

“It was a bunch of things really. It was like memories and hallucinations mixed together. I couldn’t pick them apart, I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. The fairy is a torturer, and she does it for _pleasure_. It just reminds me of Kate,” Derek talks and talks while Stiles rubs his hand down his arm again, like their personal symbol of trust.

Somewhere, Stiles knows that he’s to blame - because he’s been gone for too long, and Derek had no one else to really listen to him like Stiles would.

“She saw blue and she said blue was beautiful,” Derek continues about his family.

Stiles is drifting - he’s trying to stay awake, to hear Derek’s voice roll over him like waves but he can’t help but close his eyes mid-sentence with the Alpha wondering if his mom would think the same of his eyes now.

Stiles falls asleep before he can say he thinks she would.

 

\-----

 

Stiles wakes up with a groan, automatically knowing he didn't get much sleep by the way his eyes still sting a little and he can just sense that it's early. He takes a second and feels a heavy weight around his waist and smiles a little. He was pretty sure he fell asleep in the middle of Derek Hale being completely open with him, and part of him wishes he didn't. Another part of him is selfishly glad he did, because it hurt to hear Derek talk about all that in the first place.

He shifts out of the bed slowly, careful not to wake up Derek and heads to the kitchen to make coffee. He starts it up in a half-haze and looks to the clock to see that it's almost 6:30 in the morning. Ace is usually up before him, punctual about getting to school on time, unless he wants to make breakfast every now and then.

So he makes his way to his son's room, and is witness to the alarm blaring and Ace flailing out of bed. He chuckles under his breath, and Ace snaps his head to him and looks, well, _angry_. Stiles immediately stops laughing and has the courtesy to look ashamed. He's been such a shitty father lately that it pulls and twists at his gut. His eyes flicker to the small handbag that Ace probably packed last night. It's Friday now, and after school, he would get a ride to Josh's house where they'd leave for the waterpark together.

Ace storms past him into the kitchen, knowing his dad is trailing behind him. They're both like that in that way - the anger in them not knowing how to leave things alone. Which is why, with all the stern attitude a ten year old can muster, Ace bitterly asks, "What time did you get home last night?"

Stiles suddenly feels like he's back in high school again, with his dad across the counter, distrustful and angry while he tried to come up with the best lies possible. He doesn't want to lie to his family, he's always hated it.

"Around three, you didn't wait up, did you? Because I might not have been home, but you need sleep if you want to have fun at that waterpark," Stiles admonishes, with a pointing finger and all, because he's, hah, _ace_ at changing the subject.

"Not past twelve," Ace mumbles under his breath, but doesn't seem to forget his fury. And his dad feels his heart crumple when he hears it, because he doesn't like the way he can feel that disappointed gaze weighing on his back.

"Did you pack?" Stiles asks him quietly, because his shoulders are tense, and he doesn't know what to say - doesn't know how to explain himself to a ten year old who doesn't understand that some monsters are real.

"Yeah, I'm good to go."

And that - well, that kind of hurts. He'll miss him, really, sad that they have to leave this on broken terms, but it's for the best. If it'll keep Ace safe, Stiles would lie to him for the rest of his life, which is, sure, depressing, but the truth.

Ace gets his things from his room, ready to leave to catch his carpool ride of the week. Stiles watches as his son lugs a handbag and his backpack, and steps forward to grab one.

"Here, I'll help with -"

"I got it, Stiles!" Ace yells defensively, and oh, the name-calling hurts even more so he backs away, nods his head slowly.

"Okay, okay, just - be safe, alright?"

"Didn't seem to care about that last night," the kid mutters again, and then slams the door on his way out.

Stiles doesn't mention that that's because he was with the monsters last night.

He then hears noise and snaps his head to the hallway, watching as Derek emerges shirtless and buttoning his pants. Stiles is doomed for life. But it's not too wretched when Derek wakes up, surprisingly.

They're not ignoring the moment that happened between them, but they're not exactly confronting it either. Derek says they'll talk about it once all this is over, and he nods in agreement, doesn't mention how it seems bizarre that the emotionally stunted werewolf would suggest conversing about it in the first place.

He looks better though, Stiles has to admit, after probably the first full night of sleep the guy's had in awhile. He might've had a rough night, but most likely not rougher than the usual, he realizes with dread.

"You leaving?" He bites on a Pop-Tart angrily, at the quick thought of Ace, but his tone is casual enough as far as Derek can tell.

"Yeah, I have to check on the pack, make sure they're alright," The Alpha answers, stretching his wife beater over his head as he speaks.

"I'm sure they're fine. I mean, you probably got the worst of it last night," he scolds himself on how desperate he sounds, but he knows that once Derek leaves, he'll be all alone again. It's been awhile since he's had those in between time periods. When he wasn't with the pack or with Ace. It felt too quiet, and even his own words couldn't save him from the loneliness he felt.

Derek pauses while putting on his obnoxious and old leather jacket to look at Stiles with a quick, soft smile. He takes steps closer to the younger man and reaches to grab at the nape of Stiles' neck.

Stiles doesn't know where to look, eyes flickering from Derek's obscenely multi-colored eyes to his lips. He leans in, letting his lips touch against Derek's with a sharper intensity than last night. Stiles slides his tongue through Derek's closed lips, until he feels Derek’s move along with his own. He moans, pushing his body closer against the werewolf's and feels a warm churning in his gut.

Derek pulls away, laughs a little breathlessly, but Stiles can't figure out what's so funny. His world's falling apart again and the guy he hasn't spoken to in three years is just burning it up even more. Stiles wishes he was more annoyed.

"You'll be fine on your own," Derek promises and just then he thinks that maybe Derek wasn't sleeping during his conversation with his kid. "I don't - I don't mind if you tell him, after everything. It's up to you. You're his dad, but, if you don't want to lie..."

He leaves it at that and Stiles just nods hastily and mutters, "I'll think about it."

The Alpha doesn't say anything after that, but nods understandingly, and in less than five minutes, Stiles hears the door slam for the second time.

With hope, he thinks that maybe it's just the goddamn door.

 

\-----

 

After Derek leaves, he's hit with a shocking blow of reality - the main part being that he's not sure when this thing for Derek even started. It's a different kind of a obliviousness, a quiet one. No one had to spell it out for him, and no one could really warn him of the sheer power of it. It feels like maybe the fairy was playing some magical, cosmic joke on him, testing him and pulling some emotion out of him forcibly. Something he really wasn’t ready for.

But it’s too late to back down now. It’s happened, and he knows that even if he wants to blame it on the fairy, his crazy, annoying and pending feelings had nothing to do with the winged witch. He’s not even sure if they were there all along, but he knows that even if he could go back, he doesn’t want to. There’s an ache in his chest, and it took Stiles a long time to realize and look back at his dad to really understand what romance's pain and pleasure entailed.

It does kind of set and weigh in his mind, wondering how a vulnerable Derek would be the first to make a move, and how long it was going on for _him_.

Stiles thought they'd string it out longer, build it up and take each other apart and then piece the other back together, with Scotch tape.

His life was always dramatic before, he didn't think his love life would be any different.

But it was shockingly normal. Almost as easy as falling into a pattern like he does with grocery shopping and baseball schedules and carpool rotations. There's a lining of bliss with normal things, and there was with Derek too.

Stiles doesn't know what to do with himself and all his thoughts, so he spends a long time reorganizing books in the store and putting them back in their alphabetical order. The store gets a surprisingly well amount or business in general. It's nice how many people are charmed at the idea of a bookstore, how kids can't find their summer reading in the library and come here instead. And Stiles co-owns it, so that's a plus. His partner is an old man, highly intelligent, if not a little rambly about the Great Depression and the myth of the Trojan War.

Stiles is just about to clean up the shop so he can get home when the bell on the door rings. He makes his way to the front of the store, frowning and gets ready to be courteous and polite. Something doesn't feel right though, and it's not the same feeling as at the Hale House last night, but it's close.

"Can I help you?" Stiles says to a middle-aged woman who looks around the bookstore, like all people do for the first time. She looks achingly normal, even familiar, with no make-up, short and stodgy and messed up blonde hair. Nothing about her really screams evil, so he calms down a bit.

"Yeah, I need a book on fairytales for my daughter. She's going to be six this week," The lady gushes, looking eager as well as desperate. Tension arises in Stiles again, but everything about it seems normal, so he sticks to that.

"There's a children's section in the back," he points towards it, expecting her to just follow his finger's path and thank him.

"Thank you, Stiles Stilinski," the woman says grinning, like she thought she was being awesomely unexpected with a line like that that would cut to the commercials to leave a viewer hanging.

But he just feels annoyance instead, not surprise, because he had a bad feeling from the start.

"Yeah, no problem, wanna get to the point of this?" He asks bitterly. He shoves his hands in his back pockets and keeps them there, one hand clasped tightly around his phone.

“Careful with that tone, boy, I can make you hurt,” She says so smiling, and for a moment, she looks recognizable - he’s sure that he’s seen her somewhere in this town before. And then, the fairy bends her head and looks at the ground and images flash in Stiles mind of Ace’s baseball game. She was a parent on a bench with him.

“Are you actually a mom or is that just a good cover?” Stiles says, his eyes wetting and his anger making his voice shake.

“Ah, good, you remembered, I was almost worried you were as incompetent as the rest of your rag-tag pack,” The blonde paces closer to him, looking elegant, but not in the usual way. “It would be no fun if the human against me was easy.”

Stiles was so used to evil people being model-like beautiful, that it broke his heart to see a woman like this have a heart of glass. He’s going to doubt all appearances for the rest of his life.

“Truth is,” She pauses and chuckles for a moment, as if reminded of an inside joke. “This isn’t my body. I’m like Tinkerbell, Stiles - you know, cute and small with a little nice dress. Sometimes I don’t use her, but most of the time I do use Sarah’s body. It gave me the best access.”

He frowns, disgusted with the sudden idea that there was a real person stuck in there, being possessed by a _fairy_ , of all things. That Sarah is nothing more than a meat suit, a perspective to the fae. He thinks over everything she’s said to him, and frowns and warily asks, “Access to what?”

“You! Silly boy,” Her high-pitched voice giggles, and she gestures her hand at him, as if this is a friendly and casual conversation. “I’m a fairy, I’m not blind even if I’m small. I knew that there would be a potential threat against me, just like there are spells against me,” The fairy smiles, slow and tortuous and far too twisted to look like a proper evil smile, “Just like there are specific people for those spells.”

“How would you even know? I haven’t been in the pack for ages, way longer than you’ve even been here, and I'm still not,” Stiles suddenly feels very cold all over his body, but he’s not entirely sure if he’s reacting to her or the shock and fear of the idea of her _watching_. Watching him and his kid, no less. Baseball. He knew Ace shouldn’t have joined.

"When a person leaves something behind, did you know that they leave a piece of themselves, part of their soul, behind? Leaving is never easy - taking those steps, that bravery to know you're doing what's best and keep your distance. Even if others don't see it that way," The fairy grimaces, her eyes wet and staring at the bookshelf behind him. Her arm moves past him, and Stiles stills, readying himself for any move. But he watches as not-Sarah pulls a worn, hardcover book from the shelf. Stiles recognizes it and feels tension roll off and on again through his shoulders.

" _Grimm's Fairy Tales_. Ah, tell me, do you know the story of _Fundevogel_?" Faux Sarah flips through the book almost fondly, as Stiles shakes his head and unclenches his fists, finally realizing this might not be an ambush, just a warning, a _threat_.

"It's not really popular. There's no gore or anything, and they don't really dwell on it too much. But in the beginning, a baby is snatched from the mother's arms by a bird of prey and placed in a tree, where a forester finds it and takes it home."

The fairy laughs bitterly and hysterically. "Can you believe that? The baby is taken in but no one thinks to find the mother." She drops the book to the floor and the sound of its clang echoes through the high ceilings.

"I -" Stiles shakes his head, confused and so freezing that it takes all his strength to not visibly shake in front of the fairy. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

He’s trying, he’s trying _so_ hard to work this out - he always figures it out, he’s supposed to but it’s been so long. He’s afraid he’ll think the worst - he’s _biased_ now, can’t think of anything but his son, his worry amped up to maximum because it’s different being in the pack as a parent than it ever was as a teenager. He thinks with worry now, not logic.

Then she smiles, waning worse than a moon, "No, I suppose you don't."

He tries to take it in, assumes the story relates to the fairy somehow, but he doesn't know her role, her purpose or her plan. All he knows is the title of a fairytale.

The fairy makes her way to the bookstore's door, and the bells ring when she pushes it open and she turns, facing Stiles, no longer smiling, just looking empty inside, "I go by the name Eolande, just so you can stop with Homicidal Winged Bitch."

She leaves after that and he's still confused, still not sure what her point is, still unsure why she didn't take advantage of him while she could have.

And maybe she's pulling at something dark and twisty inside of him, because a part of him feels sorry for her, feels sympathetic of her pain despite the way she is killing people. He used to be black and white, to know wrong from right, just like his dad taught him to be. Everything was blurred when Scott became a werewolf and he stayed friends with him, sticking through it. He's been tested in every way and even didn't feel sorry for Jackson when he was the kanima, instead believing his death was useful.

He doesn't know who he is anymore and he doesn't think he can blame the pack or Ace or anyone but himself. Stiles sinks to the ground, his back against a bookshelf that's threatening to fall down. He doesn't care though, and drags his thumb along the cover of the book that Eolande was holding. He finds the story, reads through it briefly and finds his eyes wet. She was right, the mother was never mentioned again.

His phone rings then, through his pocket and answers it as fast as he can.

"I didn't think you'd call," Stiles admits, still staring at the illustration of Fundevogel and Lina while they hid as a church and a chandelier.

"I did say I would brag to you," Ace says resigned and Stiles grins at the pout he is sure his son is wearing.

"And?" He waits, and begins to hear the incessant chatter of Ace's voice as he tells stories of the waterpark. As the conversation drags on, Stiles closes the book and feels a little better than before, a little safer.

 

\-----

 

Stiles rolls up the sleeves of his button-up plaid shirt and then tugs down on the hem. He's nervous, trying to replay all the words of the spell in his head, trying to not be heartbroken about taking away life from a fairy who's lost her own son. Because that's what he's been able to gather from her reactions, even if he's probably wrong, it's the best he can come up with for why she would even mention the mother.

He's staring at the Hale House alone, by his Jeep and just running through his own brain, confusing himself with 'how come's and 'what if's. He doesn't understand it, and he especially doesn't understand Eolande. Maybe her objective is simple or maybe it's as complicated as a government conspiracy.

Maybe the spell will go wrong because he doesn't know a single thing and he’s got a bad feeling as always.

The Camaro as well as another car, a Toyota, pulls up to the house. Lydia and Allison emerge from the Toyota as the guys exit the black car.

They both look to the house first, its broken history of death and destruction haunts more than just Derek now. It captivates everyone with its sadness and crumbling walls.

They all look to him after taking the house in for a second of silence. The pack looks more nervous than he does. At least he's managing to keep it together, on the outside. He turns his head away from them and looks back at the scratched red paint on the front door.

He feels a warm body press against his shoulder and relaxes. He can feel Derek staring at him, waiting for a reaction or some indication that he's okay for the spell and what's to come. So he takes this moment, revels in the calm for a few seconds. He listens to the rustle of the trees, feels the warm and cool breeze against his skin. He closes his eyelids and takes in the pitch black behind them. Finally, Stiles opens his eyes and shifts his head to the werewolf, who's busy looking at him with amazement and pride.

Stiles smiles, soft and true and nods in confidence. He's ready. They can do this because he can feel it in his bones, and there's nothing they can't face. He can’t afford to be an optimist, but he dreads the other side.

"Okay," Derek nods to himself after Stiles and places a hand on his lower back, and it should drive Stiles crazy, but he feels even better, even more courageous knowing that he's not alone in this.

Lydia and Allison come to him then with an open cardboard box and a garbage bag of supplies for the spell. He wasn't entirely sure what the girls had to do to find all of the ingredients, but he's not going to make it his business. He's done his part in remembering Latin and the motions. If there's a baby's blood or something in those jars, he doesn't need to know.

“Are you ready?” Lydia asks him, looking at him with serious, focused eyes. She's always been the strong one, through all of it and ever since high school, Lydia has been the one pulling everyone together. They all know she's stepped up from the girl who was popular and afraid and they all know she's hardened into a woman beyond her years.

So Stiles appreciates the way she's being tough on him right now, serious to check if he's prepared for what's coming. And he's not, but she makes him confident enough to pretend.

"Yeah, let's do this," He smiles for extra benefit and accepts the crystal glasses she hands him and sets them up. Allison lights up the candles around the room, which are usually in every television drama when a spell is gonna be performed, but the huntress said that the energy of the fire is supposed to help with this stuff.

He knows what she means, when he fills the three crystal glasses with water and watches the light bounce throughout the room in a yellow, godly tint. Lydia handles the cauldron and fills it with rosemary, and leaves from the Alder plant. He didn't pay attention to much when the strawberry blonde was explaining it to him, so he has no idea what the origin of the silver liquid she pours is from.

She does more things for him as part of the spell, and fills the cauldron with ingredients that he actually doesn't want to know about.

The guys all stand far off by the staircase and the doors, watching for outside forces as Lydia tells him he's on his own from here. He thinks about Ace, and hopes his son is safe and sound in a hotel room with a chaperone. His hands clench at his sides and Stiles trembles for a minute. The werewolves look at him nervously, all except Derek who's frowning in that all-too-serious way of his.

That's the only thing that makes Stiles suddenly laugh, the trembling coming to a stop as he mutters under his breath teasingly, "Quit being such a worrywart, sourwolf."

When he looks up again, Derek's lips are almost pulled into a smile and the rest of the guys look at ease too. He arranges the crystal cups into a triangle with the cauldron in the center of his plan.

He picks up the bowl of crushed daffodil petals and sprinkles them in a circle around the black kettle using that so-called _spark_ he hasn't had to channel since he was twenty and a nasty witch named Chiana came to town. He gathers what courage he has left, and begins to speak, loud and clear.

“ _In diebus ténebris — invocabo meos amores_ ,” He takes a breath as he speaks about times of darkness and calling upon his son. He can feel something pick up inside him, a certain rumbling in his body, a thrill of electricity running down his spine to his toes. Stiles closes his eyes again, and picks up the spell, “ _Et spiritum carnis — inveniri infantem Evæ — qui vindicari Gwyllion — ac punire peccata sua —_ ”

He’s interrupted by the sound of a sudden crash, and sees the doorway between the living room and the main hallway collapse between them. There’s a rumbling again, but this time it’s not accompanied with the spell and shakes the ground underneath him. There’s a circling of dirt and dust in from of him, a dramatic mini-tornado where the Gwyllion appears in Sarah’s body.

“Oh, Stiles,” She says, grinning when the floor stops shaking. The werewolves are blocked outside, shouting through the debris and probably trying to get through it. He wants to tell them how stupid they are - that Eolande wouldn’t hurt him because she’s had the chance before. But he hasn’t shared that with any of them, either, so they’re too used to violent serial killers who don’t plan their ambushes.

“Eolande, how have you been?” He laughs awkwardly, staring pointedly at the cauldron that the fairy tipped over when she decided to casually shake the ground for the fun of it.

“You’re missing a piece of the puzzle here. You know why you couldn’t finish the spell?” The fairy walks around the spell’s area, smirking and smug because she knows she’s won this battle.

“Because you interrupted before I could get to the punchline?” Stiles voice shakes, feeling his head spin as if he was in the middle of her tumultuous dust and he feels all that confidence he had before the spell shatter.  

“Stilinski, I’ve been giving you hints. Have you not been listening?” She sounds incredulous, scoffing to herself in disbelief. Stiles has made her angry, feeling the sound of thunder shake through him. He runs a hand through his hair, waiting for a chance to speak. “It’s all about --”

“The mother,” Stiles finishes for her, looking up in submission - he has no choice left anymore. “So you lost your child?”

“I’ve lost generations of children,” she yells harshly, and outside of the blocked doorway, he hears a shout of pain from one of the guys. He steps to her in defense of them, until she laughs in his face. He’s powerless, a human, a blip on her radar. Stiles backs up, waiting for her to continue her sad story. The ones that every villian bothers their time with, instead of getting straight to the point.

Stiles might not be the fighter that he used to be, but he is looking around the room - scouring the place for any possible exits, any possible way out of this mess and then some. But then her words cut through him like a thousand knives.

"And you couldn't do the spell because you didn't have Ace with you," she's concluding something she was ranting about, but that's the only line that made it through his head.

"What?" Stiles stutters out harshly. He waits, and wonders if it's all supposed to pull his guts apart. When he looks at Eolande in the eye, her blonde curly hair falling across her bare shoulder blades. There's broken glass scattered across the floor from her grand entrance where he thinks he might actually have an advantage with considering he's been in the house more often than her. It's the basic home field strategy.

Maybe he can be the one with the plan again.

"Stiles, let me give you a more, hm, _visual_ hint," She smiles then, looking at him like a fond piece of meat.

He's just in the middle of trying to figure out an escape when the room begins to change - falling together like shredded pieces making a whole. He's not standing in the middle of an alleyway, but rather watching one, like he's invisible. There's a woman in a regular sweater with the hood up, and Stiles can just as easily imagine a cloak. The scene itself staggers closer to him, so he can see the aqua glowing eyes of the hooded figure. The other person is a young woman, who looks on the verge of passing out, with gray, baggy plain eyes.

" _Can you do it?_ " The supernatural thing in the hood harshly whispers to the woman. Stiles isn't good at telling what glowing eyes like that mean yet, so he'll forgive himself for the awesome lack of words for it he has.

The exposed young woman nods fervently, begging that she can take care of him. "I can, I can," she assures frantically. "Will it - will he hurt me?"

The woman smiles softly, and it's then that Stiles realizes it's not the fairy, but a different creature, a kinder, less malevolent one. "He doesn't have that kind of power. He's practically normal except for the small percentage of him that's not. When he comes of age, he will learn of his existence. I trust that you'll take care of him until then?"

The worn-out woman smiles nervously and nods, "Of course. Does he have a name?"

" _Aceitommin._ "

Stiles feels the breath knocked out of him, gasping for air when he returns to the natural setting. It's him, it's his _son_ that was part of a generation that is searching for him.

"Who was the woman with those eyes?" Is the first thing he asks though, because he doesn't want to reveal any weakness, any sign that he's shaking with worry for Ace instead of fear. He can pretend he fears Eolande - it's not a hard thing to make believe.

"Ah, long rivalry. She's the one who stole the first child, believing that she was saving him from a life of evil. But tell me, Stiles, because you can understand - isn't there nothing that a parent wouldn't do for their child?"

"What do you want from me? You want to take him? Why not from the drug addict he was with? She would've been easy. Easier than me." He doesn't mention that she's right, because there's no way in hell or in fairytopia or anywhere that he'd say that he would destroy her if she tried. Stiles has some sense, but that's the ultimate truth. She can't leave because he's bonded to something related to her. And maybe he should freak out more, but he won't because he's been dealing with the supernatural left and right and Ace is _his_ , no matter where he comes from. He's said that before.

"You're easier than you think, and you've given me a bonus - to take down a werewolf pack! It's absolutely delightful, the town you've chosen to settle in."

"But most of all, I've come to take back what's mine."

She lifts her arms, and it's too bizarre for Stiles to take note of what she's saying because he suddenly can't tell if the room is spinning and the objects are floating or if she's playing tricks on his mind again. It doesn't matter though, because just before he's about to say something, his vision goes black.

 

\-----

 

When Stiles comes to, he keeps his eyes painfully shut because there's a major uncomfortable throbbing in the right side of his head and a bruise to his jaw that he can't remember the origin of. He takes a second to recollect his thoughts and remembers everything and curses internally. Stiles focuses on his senses and can feel cool metal around his wrists, most likely handcuffs. He really hates this fucking fairy.

"Don't bother, Przbyslaw Stilinski," He can hear the smirk in her voice and _hates_ her and her pretentious villainry of needing to say his full name for special effect. "I already know you're awake."

So he opens his eyes then, unsurprised to find himself in a dingy basement with dusty wood bearers and her standing in the middle of the place like it's her kingdom.

She's pacing like it'll work as a scare tactic. It does the opposite - Stiles keeps his eyes trained on every movement she makes, waiting for a clue, a weakness.

"Do you know what your true name means?" Eolande looks at him, eyes his anger and smiles, just a quick upturn of her thin lips.

" _Yes_ ," Stiles grits out through his teeth. Her eyebrows raise in surprise, both at the answer and his tone.

"Why?"

"Why? Why what? Why do I know it? Well, born with a name like that, I was born to look up its meaning eventually, don't you think?" Stiles retorts, rolling his eyes. She's not half the genius she pretends to be in his opinion.

"Helper of glory," The fairy smirks. "It suits you. You should be proud of it."

"Who said I wasn't?" He snaps. Stiles can't help it. She crawls under his skin like a parasite - he hates her because he understands her, and because she wants to take the most important person in his life away from him.

"I could make you a trade, perhaps, if your cooperation is guaranteed," She suggests curiously, stops pacing to face him on the ground below her. "Claudia for Ace."

"You don't have that kind of power," He blurts, sudden chills running through him. Stiles can't howl, can't roar to his pack where he is, so he talks, because even if he dies at the end of this, he's more prepared the more she talks.

"No," she admits, always _always_ smiling. "But it pays to have friends in higher places."

Stiles loves his mother, and he always will, and there are still days when his chest aches at the thought of her. But that same ache has grown in him, rested inside of him peacefully. He couldn't bear to lose his son, who he's not finished with, whom he loves more than anything.

"I'd still choose Ace," Stiles says, locking onto her gaze firmly, voice seething.

The fairy breaks her air of superiority for the first time that he's seen when she snaps at him, "His name is Aceitommin, not whatever puny nickname you've donned him."

"Now," she smiles sweetly, regaining her confidence and general aura of talking sweetly and being able to hallucinate a person to death. "Where is he?"

"You could kill me before ever finding that out," Stiles bites out, and he watches as her eyebrows raise in amusement, like she wouldn't expect a parent to sacrifice themselves for their child in a heartbeat. Well, he supposes she wouldn't understand.

"Don't underestimate how easy it would be for me to kill you," She chastises him, shaking her head softly to herself.

Stiles doesn't doubt it. He needs more time alone, a better chance to figure out how to escape and look for exits. Stiles would be stupid to say he isn't scared - even if he made it out of this alive, and got Ace back, he'd flee the country in panic, already well aware that Eolande wouldn't stop until she had her family.

There's no way to survive unless the pack is thinking of some heavy other ways. Maybe they shouldn't have dragged him into the middle of this, but the beginning. Maybe if he was _more_ involved, knew every ingredient of the spell, looked for other spells, _something_.

"You're unusually silent," Eolande remarks as if it's interesting, like she's the doctor and he's the patient.

"I'm trying to figure out your next move," he comments idly, probably his least threatening statement since it was so heavily loaded with truth.

"Oh! That's delightful of you," The fairy laughs and sits down on a chair placed in front of the chains and pole he's tied to. "I already thought of it a couple minutes ago. Want to hear it?"

Stiles only nods his head yes and plays her stupid game because she sounds way too confident for his liking.

"Sarah's son is at Kyle's birthday party - you know, at that waterpark? It would be like Christmas to find Ace there!" She's standing up, her back facing him and turns around slowly, dramatically.

It's tumultuous, there's two worlds crashing in the center of Stiles' chest. The marrow of his bones feel like they've grounded together and he feels like he can't breathe. He wants to stay calm, wants to be strong but he can't - he's never been so scared in his entire life.

"Don't," He pleads, broken, battered in every emotional way. "Please don't."

He gives up, he'd do anything she asked of him in this moment if it meant his son wouldn't be taken away from him.

The fairy walks up and leans over, dangerously lingering near his ear. Her voice sneers and he does his best not to quiver but fails when she whispers, "You know that feeling in your gut right in this moment? It means you've already lost and you know it."

The sound of her footsteps when she leaves sound like a countdown.

 

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the dark days, I call upon my love - the flesh of the child of Eve, to avenge Gwyllion and punish her sins.


	2. every word i pray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a little shorter, but I thought it'd be better to split what would happen into two parts.
> 
> There's a few different point of views in this, mostly because there's a lot more action than earlier and I was keeping time. But I hope you like it anyways. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who wanted me to keep up with this story or subscribed or whatever. I'm glad I took it out of my drafts and decided to keep up with it. Next chapter is going to be Stiles' point of view.

\-----

 

 _Said Lina, “Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.”_ _The cook, however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it, and was about to drink it up._ _But the duck swam quickly to her, seized her head in its beak and drew her into the water, and there the old witch had to drown._

_\- Fundevogel: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm_

 

\-----

"What the hell was that?" Scott demands once the room around them settles. The spell's contents are broken and smashed across the living room floor while the rest of the house looks exactly the same as before.

"Another illusion probably," Lydia says, her eyes scanning the hallways as if another attack will come on any second. "She planned this whole thing."

"None of that was real?" Allison asks, her bow and arrow still in defensive stature, prepared for more imaginary monsters to throw them all across the room.

"I guess not," Derek says staring into the living room, worry creeping up in his skin.

"We need to move fast," Lydia commands, already walking out of the Hale house with her heels clacking against the wood. Derek has half a mind to warn her of the house's decomposing structure, but figures she understands the limitations of her shoes better than he does. "We already lost too much time."

Derek catches up to her as she's opening her car door and stops her with a strong grip on her arm. He's sure his eyes are panicked because he sees a quick flash of sympathy. "Tell me you have a plan. Cause I don't," he shakes his head to himself, "And we have to find him. If we don't, I don't -"

"Derek," she cuts in, giving him a brief reassuring smile and returning his strength with a gentle squeeze, "We'll find him."

He's half embarrassed to look around him - like someone is going to point out the obvious and say: ‘ _Really? Still falling for the Stilinski kid?’,_ like he's an idiot who can't let go. But no one says a word, so maybe they're all well-acquainted with his idiocy in his romantic entanglements.

They speed the whole way to Scott and Allison's house because she claimed she had the most equipment they could work with and it was the closest. Scott takes the jeep and is the last person to arrive. He walks in carrying a book and looking mildly confused.

Lydia and Danny are searching on the computer for likely possibilities, such as empty warehouses or burned out homes, for anywhere in Beacon Hills where Stiles could be trapped.

"What's that?" Allison asks, taking a step closer to Scott, nodding towards the book in his hands.

"Oh, I found it in the jeep. Thought it was a little weird looking," Scott says as he flips through the pages.

Lydia snaps her head towards him, looking interested. Derek frowns when he notices. He was too preoccupied in his own loop of thoughts on what the fairy truly wanted. But he's trusted her judgement the most ever since Stiles went off on his own.

At that point in time, Derek was just starting to get tired of himself pushing Stiles away because of his dumb, irrational feelings and was ready to confront everything. Ready to finally attempt to trust someone again. Then, a week later, Stiles confessed his exasperation with the supernatural and how he was leaving the pack.

Derek's _entire_ life revolves around the paranormal and chaos. Knowing their friendship wasn't unbreakable, there was obviously no room for him in Stiles’ future. So no one can blame him if some rather harsher tones were thrown into their goodbye.

Lydia was there for the fallout and did her best to keep him in check enough to run his pack haphazardly. She snapped him out of it eventually, calling him out on his brooding bullshit and told him to forget and move on. She told him to be the leader she knew he could be. It worked (up until a point).

And Derek won't ever say it to the rest of them, but Stiles had some boyfriend living with him for the first year. The worst thing for him about it - he never really could accept that Stiles _wasn't_ in the pack. He couldn't not check on him sometimes, especially when the things going on were incredulously dangerous.

"Let me see it," she holds her hand out and runs her palm down the front cover. The pressed lips and thoughtful gaze tells Derek he's not going to be a fan of the information.   

"Stiles was keeping something from us,” she flips through the pages rapidly, letting her banshee powers guide her until she reaches a page with numerous scribbles and circles in red pen. "Fundevogel," she hums to herself, almost awed.

Everyone in the room locks their eyes onto her as she lifts her head up to meet all their curious glances.

"Does anyone know where Ace is?"

The mention of Stiles’ son sends his heart into a nervous staccato rhythm, the werewolves in the room picking up on his fear. He stands up urgently and the motion sends his claws out in response for a moment. “Why? Is he hurt? Is he in trouble?"

"Go after him. _Now_ ," Lydia breathes, her eyes wide and watery like they look right before she screams for a person.

Derek looks helplessly to the rest of his pack, and Allison breathes out deeply, swings her keys around her finger and demands, “Let's go.”

He's glad that for once, he can get his point across without words. Scott is about to follow but Derek begs him with his alpha eyes to stay.

“Find him. Please,” Derek hears his voice crack. He was in a good period of not thinking the worst, which was clearly over now. Scott simply nods and Allison gives her husband a chaste kiss before squealing out of the driveway.

Allison begins to say, “Where -”

“Daleview Waterpark. It's out in Summit,” Derek comments and addresses Allison’s realization of a forty minute drive with a long sigh, “I know.”

When she turns onto the highway ramp, there's nothing to do but wait as they pass along exit after exit and keep an eye out for any cops who might not approve of Allison's version of the speed limit. The silence stretches comfortably for a while, both too focused on the mission ahead. Derek tries not to think of what happens if he's too late - how the fairy could have had a whopping head start or the eternal betrayal Stiles will feel if Derek allows  anything to happen to Ace.

Allison breaks the silence, as if she could tell his thoughts were leading to self-blame. “So you want to tell me what's going on?”

He blinks and looks to his left, meeting her concerned eyes before she looks back to the road. He's not stupid, he figured eventually someone would want to know how the hell this thing with Stiles came about.

“I don't know,” Derek admits and he can't think of any logical explanation. He can feel Allison waiting to hear more and takes a deep breath. “Five years ago, Stiles told me about a night terror he used to get when Scott was first bitten. He said he would be following Scott into the woods at night but then he would disappear, in replacement for a glass pane. Everyone he loved would be laughing and happy on the other side and then a slimy monster, some wendigo thing, would tear them apart and no one would be able to hear him scream, and he couldn't save them. When he told me - I was reminded of when I first started to know him. His stupid martyr bullshit and selflessness in helping others.”

“And I wanted to just show him - ” Derek breaks off, frustrated with his past mistakes, and groans aloud, “Show him what he meant, I guess. But then I remembered I was never supposed to want him. I was just supposed to protect him.”

“Derek,” Allison says softly, like she's amused and broken-hearted. “He's older now.”

“I am too,” Derek replies, “Which is why, I guess, it was so easy to want him all over again. To forgive him for leaving, because he never really did.”

The exit they need to take appears in his vision as Allison switches to the right lane. She's smiling to herself, and Derek, thinking now that he's said too much, finds himself asking what she's thinking about.

Her grin widens and she gives a slight shrug, “It's just - now that I think about it, I wasn't supposed to want Scott. I was meant to kill him.”

“And you find that funny _how_?” Derek asks, watching the roads as she makes a rather unpleasant left turn now that they're off the highway.

“I guess I'm saying we never want what we're _supposed_ to. Screw that. I know what I fight for every night Scott wakes up in a cold sweat or yelling in his sleep. I don't think it's fair for someone I love so much to suffer so deeply. I fight for my friends too, Derek, and you deserve everything that could possibly make you happy,” Allison finishes, her mouth trembling on a thin line, a small smile and a proud glint.

Derek is hit with the image of Laura for a moment, but then he grins at the ex-werewolf hunter, the irony placed in how they've all come so far.

“Thank you,” he says cheerfully. “Now, I am ready to kick this fairy's ass, how about you?” It's just his senses on high alert, catching the scent as they get closer and closer until Allison is pulling into the crowded parking lot.

“I'm ready to put her down.”

 

\-----

 

A high-pitched scream emerges and then there's a loud raucous of laughter. The pool room is private and reserved, the blue of the water glowing against the white of the tall ceiling. The sound of splashing occurs and a few young boys cry out in protest.

Ace stops shouting as soon as his friend Thomas comes back after swimming to retrieve the ball.

“Well, it was a nice try you had there,” Brian says teasingly, gently hitting Kyle's shoulder blade. Kyle immediately flushes in embarrassment at his final shot missed in the game.  

But of course, this reaction is nothing of a surprise to Ace, who is far too used to Kyle's reactions around Brian. He resists rolling his eyes and tries to think of a reason he has to suffer the obliviousness of their crushes on each other.

“Shut up, man.”

“I'm just saying, a bet is a bet. Admit to Silver being better.”

Kyle sighs deeply and dramatically. “I just can't do it. Pokèmon Fire Red will always hold my heart.”

This time Ace can't help but roll his eyes, reply quick on his tongue, “You are _both_ idiots because I can't believe you're forgetting about the Blue Version. “

“...Crap,” Brian says in defeat.

The lights in the pool room fizzle in and out for a few seconds. Some murmuring begins among the parents and chaperones attending. Ace begins to look around, his arms moving to tread in the water faster.

The whistle from the lifeguard is blown loudly, shouting to safety and people in the pool are swimming faster, gathering their noodles and floaties and heading toward the ladders.

“Come on, guys, let's go,” Ace says, a very bad feeling coming to set stone in his chest.

They climb up the pool ladder hurriedly. Ace isn't really sure where he's supposed to be going, so he's just about to follow Kyle to his parents when the lights go out completely.

Several screams of alarm echo in the building and Ace suddenly hates being right about this awful feeling. He wonders for a moment if a fairy is really doing all this. It's the first thing he can think of with his dad's strange behavior and some of the _minor_ eavesdropping when he did when Stiles and Derek were talking.

A lot of it sounded like flirting to him though, because his dad is an idiot like Kyle. So actually going into his dad's laptop was a much more effective way of finding stuff out (he’s known the password for ages). But everything he read, he's still not sure how the magical aspect of it works, so it's crazy to think his bookshop-owner dad used to fight supernatural monsters.

But if the glowing pulsing light coming from the pool and the weird mist floating in the air is anything to go by, creatures are real. Guess this is reality now. Ace shakes his head to himself in disbelief and mutters under his breath, “Okay, I'll roll with it.”

So from what books he's read about fairies, they dislike metal. Or maybe that only applies to ghosts. On second hand, Ace doesn't think he's read enough books about spooky stuff. He can't die here though - there's still stuff to learn and things to do with his dad. He just got to a place he doesn't want to leave.

Panic begins to rise in his chest, his heart beating loud and fast through his veins. He hears the sound of people's frightened shouts and names being called out start to fade into white noise. He feels a sharp pain in his eyes and he shuts them tightly, groaning at the convulsion of his pupils. The spasm ceases quickly and Ace cautiously blinks his eyes open to find that the room is now illuminated by blue. He can see in the dark and he can see where every single person in the room is standing. He can't manage to calm down but he's glad the pain has disappeared. Ace isn’t sure why any of this is happening to him and the chances of Stiles wanting to keep him if he finds out his son is a freak are massively slim.

He spots a man and a woman briskly walking into the room. One appears seemingly unfazed and the woman behind him is carrying a bow and arrow, stopping for a moment to put something upon her head and then resuming the brutal pace they had set. Nothing seems too unusual and then, the man's eyes flash red. Ace looks around to see most of the crowd has left the waterpark to return to the neighboring hotel building, so no one was quite on his level of curiosity to stick around. It seems that no one would be around to tell him if what he was witnessing is real or not.

The man with red eyes is going around the corners of the pool to get to him. As he gets closer and closer, Ace takes a few step backwards. He shuts his eyes tight. When he opens them again, the definition of his aqua-tinted vision clears up and as he adjusts, he can see the details of Derek Hale in a light hue. He lets out a breath of relief and then it occurs to him, that Derek, the classic loving freak who flirts with his dad, has _red_ eyes. Suddenly the fact that he came through the window at night makes a lot more sense.

“What exactly are you?” Ace asks and hates the way his voice shakes on the words. He takes a slow step backwards.

“You can see me? You're okay?” Derek questions, surprise etched on his face.

“You mean besides your _glowing_ eyes? Yeah, apparently I can see in the dark. But first, what _are_ you?” Ace demands, tapping his foot down mechanically.

The woman who was behind Derek catches up, out of breath and says panting, “There's no sign of her in here.” The sound of her kind-hearted voice seems familiar to him. But whatever night vision helping mask she used is confusing him from figuring it out. She looks at him and smiles, “Oh, I am so glad to see you, sweetie.“

The ‘sweetie’ does it and Ace feels his jaw drop, his eyebrows moving up higher and says in disbelief, “Aunt Ally?”

Then Derek answers his previous question with a heavy sigh and a knowing tone, “I’m a werewolf.”

Ace raises his eyebrows because he used to be watched some nights by Allison and Scott when his dad needed some extra time over the past few years, but apparently ‘werewolf’ doesn’t get the slightest feedback from his ‘aunt’, so he finally says in disbelief, “What the hell is going on here?”

 

\-----

 

Derek doesn’t get much of a chance to explain things in depth. Before he knows it, the generator has kicked back on to light up the room again. He looks to his right, to the other side of the pool and sees colorful towels and coolers people left in a hurry, a few random pair of shoes and an array of wet footprints leading to the exit doors.

He doesn’t have to state the obvious that something is wrong to Allison because she’s already taking her night vision mask off and frowning thoughtfully.

“She must be here somewhere,” Allison says, “There’s no way it can be that easy.” Her expression changes to one of despair. Derek feels a break in his back forcing him stock still, while she shakes her head back and forth, a coat of water forming over her eyes. “It’s never easy, but it has to end somewhere, right?”

Derek can’t say anything, can’t offer anything that might obscure the truth or give some faithful promise that everything was going to be alright. He’s not as invincible as he pretends to be - for some reason, he can picture Stiles laughing to that - and death will always be terrifying. Two months ago, he was just happy that he made it to his thirtieth birthday at all. But on his right side, he feels Ace shift closer to the both of them and sees him reaching for the hem of Allison’s shirt. Stiles’ son tugs on the hem just before wrapping his arms around her waist in a gripping hug. The huntress doesn’t hesitate for a moment and hiccups on a laugh and a sob as she hugs back.

The scene hits something inside Derek’s chest, some long lost hope he’d forgotten about in the whirl of chaos the past few years. The feeling of fighting for a home, for those stupid cheesy moments that mean everything, and for how a kid was able to tell Allison it would be okay in a better way than he would have.

“Ace,” Derek speaks quietly, stunned to hear a heavy emotion cracking in the tone of his voice. “We don’t have time, but I promise you can trust us.”

When Ace pulls his head away from Allison, lowers his arms and turns to face Derek again, the werewolf sees the blue rims of the his eyes having the luminescent hue of a firefly. So it seems that there was _way_ more to the background story for the evil fairy and why she’d chosen Ace and truth to the fact he could see in the dark. The worst part is Ace doesn’t seem to have a clue what’s going on with himself.

Derek is just about to take a step forward for comfort or protection for when they leave, but then he feels the lurch of gravity before it happens. The push of magic on his shoulders flings his body sideways into the wall, knocking the bricks in a loud crash, making a few pieces of debris scatter onto the tile floor. Some pieces are stuck to the cloth of his shirt and he barely feels the pain in his arm, too numb from the jolt to his skull in the attack. He lands on the ground rather ungracefully and only sees a flash of an arrow whiz by before striking through where the woman was standing, only to see her vanish into thin air with a small pop and click.

He thinks of his anchors, body shifting for him in a prickling, chilling way compared to usual. And he regrets not turning beforehand, feeling the strain in transformation for the aftermath of his injuries, especially near his right shoulder. But the vision and scents feel like an enlightening once he’s a werewolf, helping him heal faster and keeping him grounded on the enemy’s scent. She can’t hide from him now with illusions.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Allison ushering Ace into the pool employee room used for the lifeguard lounge and putting her night vision on again before leaning down to whisper something into Ace’s ear. When the door shuts, a waft of luminescent air zooms by, almost corporeal in its form.

The ceiling lights dwindle before creating the room black once more aside from the internal lights in the pool.

When he looks up, the fairy is grinning and a loud echo of laughter bounces off the walls, a trill high-pitched and unpleasant.

“You’re the bad alpha, right? Not the true one, or the lucky one, it seems,” she giggles at her own joke, “I am Eolande.”

Derek lets out a howl of pain when the fairy attacks from behind and a blunt force to his back. He heard a snap in one of his ribs and his breathing has lost its control. He's hunched over and feels numb everywhere except for the ten thousand needles of agony in his chest.  

Just as he thinks about that amazing kiss in the morning kitchen, a bright flash is in the left of his eye and he’s pulled across the tile and thrown down again. He groans in pain, his vision dizzying and he sees the glimmer of the water’s surface reflecting on the ceiling.

Allison’s words pop into his mind and he’s sure this must be the moment he finally dies. So in the dreadful moment, it figures, that Stiles and his son pops into his mind, when he's about to fail despite having everything to fight for.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to let me know if there any mistakes/points of confusion. I don't have anyone's eyes but my own when I'm going over this, haha.


End file.
